


Happy Begetting Day, Nerdanel

by RedCoatsRedder



Series: A Light in Dark Places (When All Other Lights Go Out) [8]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday, Brotherly Love, F/M, Gen, Good Parent Fëanor, Good Parent Nerdanel, Happy Birthday Nerdanel, We love nerdanel, no editing we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCoatsRedder/pseuds/RedCoatsRedder
Summary: Fëanor and his sons attempt to do something nice for Nerdanel on her birthday. A very, very late fic for Mother's Day that I've been working on for ages and never finished.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë & Sons of Fëanor, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Nerdanel & Sons of Fëanor
Series: A Light in Dark Places (When All Other Lights Go Out) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562608
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Happy Begetting Day, Nerdanel

**Author's Note:**

> There is no plot. All is fluff, all has been fluff, and all will be fluff. 
> 
> Also I am tired

Fëanor woke up that morning with one goal in mind: to give his wife the most amazing begetting day celebration in all her years. Fortunately he’d begun the preparations for this last night- drawing the heavy curtains in their room (if the sun didn’t wake her Nerdanel would sleep for ages) and sticking a nail into a burning six-hour candle to wake him when the time was right. 

Now it was time to get his sons. He intercepted Celegorm in the hall. His fair-haired son usually woke before dawn and went hunting. But not today. 

“Go get Caranthir and Curufin and go into the city. Find something for your mother as a gift from all seven of you. I trust your judgement. Be responsible and don’t let Curvo wander off like the last time you two went hunting.” 

Celegorm groaned. “No one is ever going to let me live that down! I said I was sorry, and anyways, I found him!” 

That was true. Celegorm  _ had _ found him, after returning home and being asked, “where’s Curufin?” to which he responded by turning and sprinting back in the direction of the woods. Fëanor ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes you did, Tyelko. And no, no one ever is.” 

With Celegorm going to wake two of his brothers, that left the other four to Fëanor. Maedhros was already awake when Fëanor poked his head around the door, though his son was pulling a shirt over his head and didn’t see his father. Fëanor smiled at his eldest fondly, then went on to the next room. 

Maglor had inherited his mother’s ability to sleep like he’d been hit over the head with an anvil. He also had a tendency to stay up half the night working on a ballad or a harp concerto or something. Fëanor found him snuggling a pile of sheet music, his harp sitting in front of the bed. There were a couple burned-out stubs of candles, one of which had toppled over during the night, spilling wax on the blankets. Thankfully it hadn’t been lit. 

Fëanor really had to start scolding his sons for things like this. What if poor Maglor had set his blankets alight? He carefully moved the papers out of his son’s arms and onto a table, holding back a laugh at the smudges of ink that were splotched on Maglor’s nose and cheeks. He gently shook his shoulder. “Time to get up, Makalaurë.” 

Maglor moaned, pulling the blanket over his head. He glared grumpily up at his father until it seemed he remembered what day it was, and flung the covers back. 

Concealing a slight smile, Fëanor stood to the side as Maglor rummaged around in his closet, digging out clothes, shoes, and a hairbrush. 

“Will you take the Ambarussa to pick some flowers? You know which ones your mother likes, dear.” 

With Maglor awake, that only left the twins. No sooner had Fëanor opened their door than they ran into the hall, already dressed and ready, and very excited. 

“Hush, boys, hush. We don’t want your mother to wake up just yet. Go find Maglor; he’s going to take you flower-picking.” 

With that part of his plan taken care of, it was time to begin the next stage. Or rather, the pre-stage to the next stage, which was really just seeing those of his sons that he’d sent on missions off. The only one left now was his eldest. 

Out of all his sons, Maedhros was the sole one he trusted in the kitchen. Maybe it had something to do with being the eldest child- his younger siblings weren’t great cooks either, except for Findis, though she could only really make a cake and that was it. 

Fëanor had set out some butter the night before. He’d made sure every dish in the house was washed, and the pantry was fully stocked with everything he needed. He’d even borrowed Findis’s best cake recipe. 

Maedhros was already in the kitchen when Fëanor made his way downstairs. He was reading the recipe, and pulling out various ingredients and kitchen implements as he did so. He looked up when his father came in. Fëanor reached up to muss his hair (no, he did NOT have to stand on his tiptoes. His son wasn’t that tall-yet) and grinned at him. “Good morning, Nelyo.” 

“Good morning, Ata.” Maedhros pulled down a bag of flour, and fished two eggs out of the basket on the counter. He carefully washed them off while Fëanor retrieved a jug of milk from the icebox. 

“Alright, let’s get started!” Fëanor rubbed his hands together. “Findis’s recipe says to mix the dry ingredients in a bowl first.” 

Maedhros nodded, and opened the bag of flour. 

Or, he tried to open it. The bag split, sending a puff of white dust into the air and a cascade of flour all over the counter, the floor, and Maedhros. His son blinked at him, his usually vibrant red hair muted by the white powder coating it. 

Fëanor hid his laugh by grabbing a measuring cup and scooping some of the remaining flour into it. It didn’t quite work- he snorted softly as he turned back to the bowl to dump the flour in. He couldn’t help it. 

Maedhros got his revenge when Fëanor went to get some baking powder. He snuck up on his father and hugged him from behind. Fëanor might not have been short compared to his eldest (yet) but Maedhros was tall enough that he could press his cheek to the side of his father’s head. 

Fëanor squawked, powder-dusted red locks swinging into his line of vision. When his son let him go, he whirled around. “Nelyo! My clothes are all dusty now!” 

“So’s your hair.” Maedhros snickered, and then darted away from Fëanor, who chased him with a whisk in hand, laughing uproariously all the while. 

… 

Meanwhile, Maglor and the twins were outside the city in an idyllic meadow that was practically carpeted in wildflowers. Dew was still clinging to the tips of the grass, but the rising sun was quickly burning it away. 

“We’re looking for cornflowers, daffodils, and forget-me-nots.” He reminded his little brothers. The fields of Valinor were covered with flowers in every shape, color, and scent. But those were their mother’s favorites. 

It quickly became apparent that the twins were more interested in rolling around in the grass than actually looking for flowers. Maglor hauled them up from amid a patch of daisies and led them over to a stand of yellow and white daffodils. “See which one of you can pick the best flowers.” 

The best way to get the Ambarussa to do something was to turn it into a competition. Maglor busied himself with gathering a beautiful blue bouquet of vibrant cornflowers and delicate forget-me-nots.    
  


He turned around and was met with the sight of Amrod and Amras beaming at him, arms full of flowers and pollen smudged on their noses and cheeks. 

Victory. 

… 

Caranthir and Curufin were bickering. Caranthir and Curufin had been bickering for at least half an hour, and Celegorm cast his eyes to the sky, sending a silent prayer to Manwë for them to stop, or at least to give him the patience to deal with them. 

“Okay, okay! Shut it, you two! We need to focus on finding something for Amme. Do you have any ideas?” 

Caranthir paused in his very long-winded rant about some shortcoming of Curufin’s. Celegorm raised his eyebrows, and his little brothers rolled their eyes and stepped to either side of him. If there was one thing Celegorm had learned about wrangling fighting siblings, it was to create a buffer. 

“What about jewelry?” Curufin suggested, pointing at a nearby shop advertising Telerin pearl necklaces. Caranthir scoffed. 

“Ata probably made her something. Besides, what sort of jewelry does Amme even like?” 

Celegorm had to admit he made a good point. Curufin scowled and toed at a stone in the path. “Well, I don’t hear you coming up with anything!” 

“One of her hammers broke on that marble statue she’s been working on for ages. And Ata might be good with jewels but he’s not much of a tool-smith. Remember when he tried to make Uncle Arafinwë silverware?” Caranthir smiled at the memory. 

Celegorm did remember that. The resulting products had looked more like one of Huan’s chew toys than anything resembling a fork, knife, or spoon. In fact, one of the ladles was still serving as a dog toy. Huan liked playing fetch with it, and it was shiny enough not to get lost. His father had often remarked that at least one good thing had come out of that disaster. 

“New sculpting tools it is, then. There’s a smith’s shop another block from here, I think. Come on!” Celegorm marched down the street, his brothers resuming their bickering as they followed behind him. 

The shopkeeper was a very nice man with a soot-stained white cloth in his hair and a heavy leather apron. “Ah, good morning to you, young princes. What can I do for you?” 

Curufin, who was just tall enough to see over the counter, gave the shopkeeper a toothy grin. “We’re looking for something for our mother!” 

“We want to get her a new set of sculpting tools.” Celegorm elaborated. “Do you have anything that’s really durable, and well suited for working with marble?” 

  
“I think I have just the thing for you.” He crouched down behind the counter, and Celegorm heard the sound of shifting boxes and clanking metal. The shopkeeper reappeared, holding a box made of pale wood. “This should be perfect for your mother.” 

Inside was a set of chisels, hammers, and rasps, each made of polished iron. The handles were wrapped in soft, dark leather and designs of flowering vines were picked out in colorful embroidery. Celegorm picked up one of the chisels, testing the weight in his hand. “Caranthir, Curufin, do these look like the ones Amme uses?” 

His little brothers examined the tools and gave a resounding yes. Celegorm grinned. “We’ll take them.” 

Carefully disguised box in hand (the shopkeeper had given them a cloth to wrap it in) the three boys headed for home. 

… 

Meanwhile, back at home, Maedhros and Fëanor were putting the finishing touches on the cake. Well, they were about to put it in the oven anyways. Maedhros held the bowl while his father scraped the batter into a pan. 

“Alright.” Fëanor slid the pan into their oven and closed the door. “Findis said to cook it until it turns golden-brown, whatever that means.” He patted the oven, then snatched his hand back as the hot metal burned him. “Let’s say, half an hour?” 

Maedhros, who was busy gathering all the dirty dishes and utensils, nodded. He dumped them all unceremoniously in the sink with a loud crash. 

Fëanor heard the sound of the front door opening. It was Maglor and the twins, their arms full of flowers. Maglor looked very tired, and the twins looked hyper as always. There was something yellow smudged on their noses. 

“We got the flowers.” Maglor grabbed the blooms from the twins’ arms and quickly placed them on the counter. “Nelyo, can you get a vase down?” 

His eldest son had long since accepted his role as the fetcher of things from high places for his little brothers (and parents, from time to time. But Fëanor wasn’t ready to admit that yet). With the flowers secure in their new home, Maglor took the vase to the dining room, where it would be kept safe from reckless children. Probably. 

The sound of arguing heralded the arrival of his final three sons. Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir made their way into the house, Celegorm looking tired and the other two at each other’s throats over a new disagreement. Celegorm made his way over to the rest of his family, a bundle of cloth in his hands. 

“Look at what we got.” He placed the bundle on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a wooden box. Lifting the lid, Celegorm stepped back with a flourish. “Ta-da!” 

The set of beautiful sculpting tools glimmered up at Fëanor as he peered into the box. “Excellent choice, Tyelko.” He ruffled his son’s hair with a grin. “Your mother will love these. She told me just the other day she needed some new chisels.” 

They found a nice piece of silk to wrap the box in, and a shiny red ribbon. Both came from the box of scrap fabric that Nerdanel kept on hand in case someone ripped a garment. With seven boys, they’d learned to be prepared over the years. 

And then the smell of smoke wafted into the room. Fëanor yelped and raced back to the kitchen, yanking the cake out of the oven and fanning it frantically. His sons were hot on his heels. Maglor snatched a pitcher of water and flung it into the stove, sending a plume of steam into the room. 

Fortunately the cake, though probably a little darker than what Findis would deem “golden-brown”, was fine. It was just singed a little on the bottom, and sides, and a bit on the top. Nothing a good icing job wouldn’t fix. 

“Boys, why don’t you ice the cake?” Fëanor suggested. “I trust you can do a good job.” Really, he just wanted to change his clothes and get the flour out of his hair. He gave Maedhros a look, and his eldest nodded, biting back a smile. If he couldn’t keep his brothers in line, no one could. 

So with the hope that he would return to a clean kitchen and responsible children, he headed upstairs. 

Nerdanel was still passed out in their bed. She rolled over when Fëanor came in, and he froze in the doorway. But when nothing else happened, he tiptoed inside and over to their closet, pulling the door open as slowly as possible. 

He was brushing out his hair when it happened. It turned out flour was a lot harder to get out than he anticipated, so he was violently patting his hair in an attempt to at least spread the stuff out enough so it looked like it wasn’t there. It was not working. 

As he did so, he knocked a stray pin out of his hair, and it fell to their vanity with a soft clatter. He didn’t notice, and kept on beating his hair. But of course it would be the one thing his wife did hear. 

“Fëanor?” He stopped, one hand hovering just above his hair. In the mirror, he saw Nerdanel sitting up and stretching. She yawned. “What are you doing, dear?” 

“Nerdanel!” He whirled around, frantically braiding his hair and hurrying over their bed to kiss her good morning. “Happy begetting day! The boys and I planned a little surprise for you downstairs.” 

She smiled at him, cupping his face in her hands and pulling him down for another kiss. “You’re so sweet. How long have they been alone?” 

He grinned. “Not too long. Nelyo’s handling it.” Hopefully. 

They made their way downstairs, and Fëanor winced slightly when he picked up the tell-tale sounds of chaos coming from the dining room. Nerdanel raised her eyebrows but smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure it’s fine, dear.” 

Still, Fëanor made sure to step on the creaky floorboard right before they walked in. The room went silent, and there was a split second of scuffling before they saw their sons. 

They were in a line before the table, awkward grins plastered on their faces along with copious amounts of white frosting. Celegorm kicked something under the table and the bowl Fëanor had made the icing in was suspiciously absent. 

“Happy begetting day, Amme!” They chorused. 

Nerdanel hugged each one of their sons, and she had more than a little frosting on her own face when she was done. Maedhros presented her with the cake which, to Fëanor’s relief, was coated in icing and looked quite good. 

The cake was delicious, and Nerdanel loved the flowers and the tools their sons had picked out. Fëanor presented her with a golden necklace adorned with glowing emeralds. “Happy begetting day, melda.” 

She leaned over and kissed him, and their sons groaned the obligatory groan that children do when they see their parents kiss. Then she frowned and leaned back a bit. “Fëanor, darling, what’s this white stuff in your hair?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue how sculpting marble works or if you're supposed to use iron since it's sort of a soft stone. But I did my best. 
> 
> p.s. "melda" means "beloved" . Hopefully.


End file.
